


What I Want

by raeco



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Camp Jaha | Arkadia, F/F, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, POV Female Character, Polis, Post-Mount Weather, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6871006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raeco/pseuds/raeco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post mount weather, Clarke has left Arkadia and is living out in the forest on her own wits.(Clarke POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post MW. Clarke has been living out in the forest by herself. (Clarke POV)

When the dirt roof comes into view Clarke can’t help but sigh; the hut has become her haven, there’s no doubt she wouldn’t have been able to survive the last few months without it. Leaving Arkadia with just a handgun and only a handful of bullets, she needed nothing short of a miracle to survive so long in these woods, this place came along just at the right time.

 

Knocking on the door Clarke knew it would be a while before it would open, it was the same procedure every time, and part of the reason why Clarke trusted her so much. Niylah was careful, making sure Clarke was smuggled in and out the back when no-one else was in there with her, it was the only way to be sure she wouldn’t be seen.

 

Niylahs hut operates dually as a trading space for the local grounders, acting as her main source of income, therefore it was almost guaranteed there was always someone there. Even if the grounder in question seemed harmless they never took any chances, it was the only reason why Clarke was able to stay here for so long.

 

After what happened at Mount Weather they learnt from Niylah’s punter chat that Clarke was a coveted woman. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay there long if she was spotted.

 

It was early on in her departure from Camp Jaha she realised how reckless she had been in leaving; she had no food, water or clothes; likewise, no way to obtain them.

 

Surviving in the forest she knew she may have some close calls; her expectations proving right one night when whom she believes to have been Ice Nation were hunting nearby.

 

She was in no position to defend herself. Too tired to do much but lift her head, she was at the mercy of whatever or whomever.

 

They could have stumbled upon her any second, they sounded close. Speaking mainly in trigedasleng she couldn’t make out a large part of the conversation, she knew they were talking about her, perhaps looking for her, maybe they wanted to kill her.

 

What she did recognise has haunted her the moment it slithered out of the grounders mouth.

 

“Wanheda”

 

Or rather, Commander of Death. It was pronounced with such poison, though not to the grounders credit, it didn’t need his help. A word of such wickedness could only come out as so, and Clarke had been gifted with the title. She couldn’t deny she deserved it.

 

It wasn’t long after that occurrence that Clarke found her saviour, or rather her saviour found her. She was pretty much dead by the time Niylah found her, she wondered how she looked, how Niylah even knew she was alive. The journey to her hut felt like an eternity, Niylah carried her the whole way.

 

Clarke was surprised when she woke to find such a petite woman, all parts of her were small, apart from her long blonde hair. Though Clarke didn’t doubt she could handle herself, her grounder knowledge made her more valuable than any physique could ever be.

 

Clarke hears the bolt shift on the door and spins round just in time to see it swing open, leaving her standing face to face with Niylah.

Offering a small smile Niylah steps aside welcoming her in.

 

‘Are you hungry?’ Niylah asks pointing towards a meal on the table ‘I’ve saved you some’.

 

Clarke nodded gratefully ‘thankyou’.

 

‘You’re welcome’ she replies as she makes her way over to the small room at the back. ‘I have some business to finish. I’ll be here if you need me.’

 

Clarke nods her appreciation and immediately shifts her attention to the meal Niylah has set out for her, a meat of some kind, it smells delicious.

 

After the first couple of bites she welcomes that craved wave of comfort wash over her body. Comfort is a scarce feeling in her life since Mount Weather, this is the only place she has left where she can really relax, the only place she really feels safe. Mainly because Niylah is so exhaustive in ensuring her safety.

 

At first Clarke couldn’t understand why she was so accommodating, she wondered what her motives were, whether her plan was to hand her over to the Ice Nation or worse… _her_.

 

She wouldn’t be surprised if _she_ wanted her dead.

 

To her relief, she later learnt that Niylahs an advocate of the ‘great’ Wanheda. She feels indebt to Clarke for her actions at Mount Weather she confessed, as she told Clarke how her father was taken by the Mountain Men and made into a Reaper.

 

In Niylahs eyes Clarkes actions were divine retribution, that she herself would never have been able to achieve.

 

Niylah returns when Clarke has finished eating, and takes a seat at the washed-out table opposite her.

 

‘How long do you plan to do this?’ Niylah asks almost solemnly. Offering a concerned face.

 

The conversation usually ends up here eventually.

 

‘What do you mean?’ Clarke replies, feigning ignorance. She was hoping she wouldn’t be doing this today.

 

‘Avoid who you are Clarke’ Niylah states so softly.

 

Although their relationship started out cautious and refined, Niylah had always shown Clarke such kindness and genuine concern, in turn Clarke has grown to care for this woman, without her she wouldn’t just be dead, she would be worse than dead.

 

Mount Weather left her with all-encompassing self-loathing. Her family hate her, her friends hate her, how could they not? But no one could hate her more than she does herself. Her skin feels dirty and repulsive, she wishes she could rip it off, it’s a murderer’s skin.

 

The guilt in her heart is so commanding, it makes it hard to breathe. Her heart aches for those men, women and children. And it loathes for the person who help put it there.

 

Niylah has helped her see that there could be life after, maybe Clarke can someway set right her actions. But she needs time, time to do something with these emotions, she’s no help to anyone like this.

 

‘You know you have always been welcome here,’ she continues, ‘but this is not who you are, your home is Arkadia. You defeated the mountain, you are Wanhe-‘

 

‘Can we not talk about this?’ Clarke sternly interrupts.

 

She looks around the room to find some consolation from the place where she feels protected, to avoid a conversation that makes her feel anything but.

 

Her favourite part has always been the fireplace, it’s beautiful, and intricate. She has spent many hours admiring its swirls and elaborate designs when it’s lit, enjoying the light and warmth dancing across the otherwise grey room.

 

Niylah reaches across the table and takes her hands in her own forcing Clarke back to the moment.

 

She squeezes Clarkes hand offering friendly comfort, she says ‘I know you don’t want to listen to me. But we both knew this day would come. Those men who first came for you, their visits are getting more frequent. They know something Clarke.’ Clarke looks up and sees the distress on her face, ‘I don’t know how much longer I can protect you’ She desperately finishes.

 

Clarke knew she would have to return eventually, but that day seemed a fantasy, as if it was never actually going to happen. She didn’t even know if they would want her back, and the thought of facing them again was almost too much to bear.

 

She expected some to look at her with blame, anger and disgust. They are the ones that would make sense to her, because they are the ones she deserves. What scares her even more is the possibility of praise and approval; her actions are not deserving of anything favourable.

 

Mostly Clarke was tired of their expectations, everyone looked to her for answers then never liked them when she gave them, she liked it here with Niylah because none of that existed. Although she was ‘Wanheda’ Niylah didn’t see the atrocity she left behind and selfishly Clarke was glad because she could never truly understand what that meant.

 

‘I’ll be ok for a little longer.’ She says with almost no conviction, almost like she doesn’t quite believe it herself.

 

‘No Clarke.’ She responds abruptly, and she forces out the next words as if it causes her great pain, ‘If you will not make this decision for yourself, I will make it for you. I’m sorry Clarke, but you will no longer find haven here.’

 

It’s with these words that Clarke realises the gravity of the situation. She knows she’s being a coward by not going back, she knows she’s pushed her time to the edge but she thought she could last just a little bit longer. Niylah wouldn’t do this unless it was absolutely necessary, it’s a dangerous game to wait any longer, too dangerous, and Clarke knows it.

 

She concedes ‘Ok, I will leave tonight’

 

‘Thank you.’ She sighs in relief ‘You are welcome to stay the night and leave first thing, it will be a long day for you.’

 

‘No thank you’ she says as she gets up from her seat ‘I have something I need to do before I go back.’

 

This is a lie, she doesn’t, but she finds herself wanting to be alone on her last night before she goes back to Arkadia. She needs to prepare herself for what is to come; what she’s going to say to them and more importantly what she will do if they reject her. She needs to leave now before she falters and decides to stay again.

 

Clarke makes her way over to the same door where she came in, and turns to face her friend one last time.

 

‘I can’t thank you enough for what you have done for me’ Clarke spurts as she reaches over to Niylah and provides her a warm hug ‘If you ever need anything from me…’ she trails off.

 

‘It’s been an honour Clarke’ she says earnestly. Clarkes chest tightens at having to say goodbye to a real friend, but also at what this means.

 

She’s going home.

 

As the door shuts behind her she knows where she’s heading, she knows where her last night has to be before she returns to Arkadia.

 

As the drop ship comes into view Clarkes feels a whirling mixture of emotions, this isn’t the first time she’s been back here since Mount Weather.

 

On occasions this place has been a support, reminding her of the tremendous sacrifice her family and friends have experienced since landing on this earth. It almost makes her actions feel acceptable.

Sometimes though all she can see are the dead: Wells, Charlotte, Finn, Myles, Atom, Connor, Harper. And it makes her think what a waste of life it all is.

 

There’s plenty of blood on her hands and Clarke doesn’t think it will ever wash off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke hears something or someone in the forest.
> 
> The question is: what do they want with her?

It’s starting to get late and Clarke is beginning to feel the effects of her journey, her feet throb and the muscles in her thighs are drained, she can barely keep herself upright and wants nothing more than to drop right on the spot and go to sleep, but she can’t yet. 

She staggers into the dropship, everything is exposed as it doesn’t need to be protected anymore; no-one has lived here since those 100 that first landed all those months ago. It’s probably not the best place for safety from those looking for her, but Clarke thinks that one night won’t hurt, and she needs this, she needs some form of closure. 

As she passes the entrance she’s overcome with a flood of memories, she can’t believe how much has changed in such a short time. Clarke still remembers that euphoria she felt when she first stepped foot on soil, the crunch of twigs and leaves under her feet, the smell of dirt and trees and fresh air. 

Clarke had never breathed in air so fresh, she loved the way it wrapped itself around her, its coolness touching her skin, and the slight breeze that blew along her neck, she had never felt anything so invigorating. 

But she’s not the same person she was when she first landed, too much has happened. She was hopeful and driven and guiltless. She was Clarke, artist, delinquent, and non-mass murderer. 

Back then her vision was so pure, peace was certain, there was nothing and no-one to get in the way of it. There was no way that everything wasn’t going to be fine. 

But now, Clarke is unconvinced that she will ever find peace, even if all of the fighting is over, even if the enemy is defeated and there is no more killing, she fears her mind will never have peace.

And she hates that this has been taken away from her.

Clarke grabs her emergency supply bag she hid when she first left Arkadia. Immediately she takes the gun and loads it, it feels natural in her hand, like a well-fitting glove.

She walks back down the slope and sets about making a fire, the nights get cold quick and she doesn’t want to be doing this when her hands are frozen and numb. 

She takes a match from her emergency kit and runs the tip along the side of the box, watching the spark turn into a flame. She drops the lit match onto the kindling she collected below. 

Instantaneously the heat radiates, surrounding the air around her like a warm hug. 

Clarke lies down on the floor in her sleeping bag. Since the 100 left for Arkadia the ground has grown over with grass providing quite a soft bedding. 

Looking up at the stars Clarke can’t help but compare her view to that of the ark. The view from the earth is even more beautiful than she thought possible. The stars light up the sky; they flash and dance. 

The last time she watched the sky like this she was with Finn, before… _everything_.

She feels that familiar throb in her heart; this time she can’t stop herself from falling into that dark place, that place full of hurt and agony and remorse. She’s too tired to fight it, today has been exhausting mentally as well as physically, tonight she’s at the mercy of her own consciousness, it has her arms and legs bound; she’s helpless. 

Although she’s tired she’s too scared to sleep, occasionally her dreams are plagued by dead bodies and blood, so much blood. Those graphic visuals are worse than any picture her consciousness can craft, because she can hear, see and smell everything from that night.

They always start with those emotionless green eyes staring into her own. Every time Clarke believes it’s impossible that they would leave her and they are going to turn around and stay but they never do, they walk away uncaring while she remains hopeless and desperate. 

And then she sees her friends beaten and bruised in cages, begging with her to do something, anything. Their eyes are bloodshot and strained and their bones are protruding from wherever they can. Their piercing screams tormenting her ears.

She doesn’t know what she’s going to say when she gets back to her friends, she knows they’re going to have questions but right now she’s too tired to care. She tells herself she deserves this time to herself and doesn’t owe them anything, she knows it’s selfish but sometimes you have to be for your own sanity. 

Time and time again she has been the one suffering to save her people, even now that it’s over she still suffers. Maybe they’re just going to have to accept her decision, does she not deserve that courtesy?

Maybe she doesn’t and it’s just her overtired mind talking.

Just as she begins to drift off and sleep begins to take her under Clarke is startled awake by a brash crunch. 

Promptly she swipes for her gun and scrambles to her feet. 

Shaking off the grogginess Clarke tries to focus and listen for any further noises, urgently circling in every direction searching for the source. It sounded like a human, _Grounder_.

She knew this was a risk of coming back here instead of finding somewhere more discreet. She was ready for this.

From the volume it can’t be more than two grounders she thinks, she’ll be able to fight them off. It won’t be like last time when she was taken by surprise, Clarke knows they’re here this time. 

Her breathing threatens to become frenzied but she forces herself to keep it measured and focused. 

The moonlight offers her aid in peering through the otherwise dim forest, all she needs is a glimpse to regain equal footing, she knows they can see her clearly she’s out in the open.

Minutes pass and she hears nothing other than the natural sounds of the forest, the slight breeze passing through the gaps in the trees and the sizzling of what remains of her fire. 

This is no surprise as grounders are masters of concealment, Clarke had experienced their expertise first hand.

They weren’t just quiet through the forest they were soundless, they glided barely touching the tops of the floor, leaving no mark to be traced. They were ghosts.

This makes her consider, if they really were intending to sneak up on her they wouldn’t have made such a clatter, they were too capable for that.

It’s at this moment that she spots him.

Immediately she can tell he’s not Azgeda - there are no scars on his face - he has to be from one of the other clans.

She swivels and points her gun towards him. 

‘Who are you?’ she demands as she slowly edges towards him, trying to gain a better vantage point on this stranger. He offers no reply and this only makes Clarke more irritated ‘Speak!’

He slowly makes his way out of the safety of the forest allowing Clarke to take him all in.

He’s wearing typical grounder attire, dark leather, and shabby armour equipped with weapons, a lot of weapons. He’s a warrior, though he’s a lot shorter than the warriors Clarke has seen, and she hopes this will go in her favour if they end up having to fight.

He stands there not nervously, just guardedly, observing Clarke, probably assessing the best way to take her down if it comes to it.

‘I’m Cyrus’ he says offering a slight nod in introduction ‘I' here to help you, I was sent by _Heda_ kom Trikru.’

The tension that had been building up in her body suddenly disappears, _maybe he’s not here to kill her_.

But then it returns with a different temperament and her stomach drops, _Lexa_. A person she thought she would never see again. 

Her insides burn, she’s unable to move, to form a coherent thought. She almost forgets how to breathe and her breaths come out in short uncontrolled rasps.

He knew he would take her by surprise with this information and seizes his opportunity. Lunging towards her outstretched hand holding the gun, he twists her wrist forcing the gun to tumble to the floor. Too quick for Clarke he kicks the gun into the gulf of the forest that had been concealing him not too long ago.

And just like that Clarke was weapon less.

‘I mean no harm’ he says with his hands in the air, almost in surrender.

‘What do you want?’ she recovers, almost shouting, she’s eager to get rid of this man and anything remotely to do with _her_.

‘You know of Wanheda?’ he questions, standing very casual now the gun is no longer between them.

‘ _Commander of death_ ’ she affirmed restlessly ‘but what’s that got to do with you?’ 

‘You did what no one has been able to do, defeat the mountain. Because of this you are wanted by almost every clan in the coalition.’ he explains. ‘There is a bounty on your head. They believe if they kill you they will have the power of Wanheda’ he says matter of factly.

It’s always amazed Clarke at how grounders have been able to face death so fearlessly. For them death is as an important part of life as living is, they do not fear it, in fact they almost welcome it. 

It’s what makes them such good warriors.

‘And what about your _Commander_ ’ Clarke spits her name as if it is poison on her tongue ‘does she want Wanhedas power too?’ 

‘No’ he looks her directly in the eyes as he says the next words ‘she wants to _protect_ Wanheda.’

Her stomach jolts involuntarily at this information, her insides feel light almost like she’s floating. She scolds herself for such a reaction.  
Lexa proved she cared no more for Clarke than she cared for the mountain men when she left her to die. Why now?

The only logical explanation would be because she wants to protect the coalition. Clarke undermined Lexas position and now she wants to use her to conserve her position of power.

She doesn’t want to actively oppose Lexa, she doesn’t want anything to do with her and she’ll be damned if she lets her have any influence over her life again.

Clarke can’t control the rage that snakes its way through her veins, determined to grasp every inch of her body. It’s unstoppable.

‘What exactly does she want from me?’ Clarke growls as she clenches her fists. 

‘To come to Polis’ he declared. 

There’s no way that was going to happen, Clarke knew that much.

‘Well you can tell the commander’ she mocked, her voice coming out harsh, ‘ _Wanheda_ is staying right where she is. If she thinks she can click her fingers and I’ll come running she’s clearly deluded’

Clarke turns from the Grounder now back towards her makeshift camp, done with this conversation.

‘I must insist you reconsider’ he stressed from over her shoulder, the first bit of emotion Clarke had heard from his voice since they started talking.

Clarke didn’t need to reconsider, she wasn’t going anywhere with Lexa it was as simple as that. Besides, tomorrow she would be back in Arkadia with her people, problem solved.

‘I don’t need to reconsider’ Clarke said certainly. ‘By tomorrow I’ll be back in Arkadia with my people, you don’t need to worry about me’

She began to attempt to salvage the fire, tempting the flames to make a reappearance.

‘You will not make it to Arkadia, it is too dangerous.’ He tries to reason in vain. 

‘I’ll be fine’ she says almost bored ‘ _I’ve survived worse_ ’ she thinks to herself.

Climbing back into her sleeping bag exhaustion creeps into her bones once again. 

When she turns to where the grounder was standing she sees no-one. He is gone, she didn’t hear him leave.

 _Good riddance_ , she thinks. 

She will deal with whatever comes tomorrow, but right now she just needs a good night’s sleep her body is begging her for it.

She just wants to not have to think, she wants relief from having to plan and strategize and execute to stay alive, everything she has done since she landed has been for survival. She hopes that one day this will no longer be true, that her time will be spent doing what she wants because she wants to do it.

Quite quickly relief comes as her eyelids drag her towards that peaceful abyss, at least she hopes.


End file.
